Passage
by NightMage
Summary: Life after Privilege. Sam's stalker is on the loose. Danny is trying to save Carolynn, while Vivian takes the lead on the newest Missing Person. Enter Dina Kingston and her daughter Kelly, from episode 4.3 'From the Ashes.'
1. P r o l o g u e : Privilege

This fic is a **sequel to Privilege**. Therefore, I suggest you read that first. If you really don't want to, below is a summary of what happened in Privilege. It will give you the major stuff. You just may miss some of the allusions, which to some is not that big a deal.

**WARNING. IF YOU PLAN ON READING PRIV FIRST, DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING.**

**Prologue:**

While Martin tries to work up the courage to ask Sam out, the team investgates the disappearance of 14-year-old Carolynn Casper. Carolynn works as a model for _Live Now!_ magazine. From her manager, they learn that she often has irrational mood swings. Video surveillance near Carolynn's home shows she and her best friend Cai having an argument, after which Cai flees and Carolynn begins to place a call in a neaby phonebooth, but hangs up. After she leaves, Cai returns and makes a call of her own. The team discovers that Cai was calling a psychiatrist, but because the psychiatrist, Nancy Dawson, cannot reveal what her clients say to her, the call is a dead end. Carolynn's call, however, yields more interesting results: she almost called a local priest, Channel Garver, who went missing later that same day. Danny and Viv go to check it out. Sam stays at the office doing research, where she receives an anonymous boquet of flowers.

Upon arrival at St. Anthony's church, Danny and Viv learn from another priest that Garver had been worried that day about a confession someone made to him. Carolynn's jacket is found in the confessional. Meanwhile, Sam discovers that Cai is pregnant with the child of Carolynn's boyfriend, Zar, which is what the argument was about. Sam and Danny deduce that Carolynn has gone somewhere to kill herself, that she confessed she was going to to Garver, and that he followed her to stop her himself rather than break silence about the confession.

In the mean time, Sam receives more flowers, this time accompanied by a threatening note. It doesn't bother her too much, but she tells Martin about it. Later, when she expresses her fear that Carolynn is already dead, Martin kisses her on impulse. When they leave that night, they discover that Sam's car has been smashed and graffitied, and there is a single red rose lying on the driver's seat. Though worried, Sam keeps up her "tough girl" attitude and refuses to spend the night at Martin's appartment, so he goes to her appartment to keep her company until she's calmed down.

The next morning, Danny discovers that Carolynn had a brother who O.D.ed years ago, that Cai's mother and Carolynn's father were having an affair back then, and that Dylan O.D.ed in the back shed of a restaurant. Jack, Viv, and Danny go to the shed and find it empty, but realize that Carolynn was recently there.

While there, Jack receives a call from Martin saying that he and Sam were run off the road by a masked man who called Sam a slut. Sam's ankle is broken, but luckily they were near her apartment, which is where they are now. Viv convinces Jack that Martin can take care of Sam, and that Jack needs to focus on finding Carolynn.

Jack, Viv, and Danny deduce that Caolynn went to steal pills from Nancy Dawson's office, in order to kill herself the way Dylan did. At Dawson's office, they find Garver, but learn that Carolynn is already heading back to the shed.

At Sam's apartment, Martin and Sam find another threatening note from her stalker resting on her coffee table. Marin calls an ambulance for Sam's ankle. A paramedic enters, lurs Martin out of the room, and locks the door. Sam realizes that he is in fact her stalker, not a paramedic, and that he is Richard, a man she only ever met once, back at the _Live Now!_ office.

Danny finds Carolynn back in the shed. When she realizes she's been discovered, she decides not to wait for the medication to take effect. Instead, she turns her father's gun on herself. Danny manages to smack it out of her hand, and holds her as she whispers that she's pregnant too, also by Zar, and cries.

Richard attempts to rape Samantha, but she fights him off. Martin forces his way back into the room to help. Finally Richard is bent over on the ground, breathing hard. Sam picks up her gun and shoots him.

Sam, Martin, and Carolynn are rushed to the hospital. Martin finally asks Sam out. They all make it, but will Carolynn's baby survive the effects of the medication? Will Cai's baby live?

Does Richard?


	2. o n e : So Called Normal

**P A S S A G E **_  
__Sequel to Privilege  
_(temporary title)

. - . - . - .

**WARNING. THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS/REFERENCES TO EP 4.3, FROM THE ASHES**. If you did not see the episode about **_Dina Kingston, the young prostitute trying to raise enough money to get off the streets and regain custody of her_ _daughter, Kelly_**, you may miss certain minor references. Basically what you need to know is that when the episode ended, a hearing was coming up in which Dina would attempt to convince the court that she could be a good mother. _**Sam promised to be there for her**_, but then we never heard anything else.

. - . - . - .

**A/N**: And I'm back, people! The promised sequel! That is, assuming I have the time to write it.

I had so much fun last time, I'm doing it again. Reviews mean so much to me! I post each chapter as I write it, which is why updates take a while, but reviews are what encourage me to keep it going.

Yes, this will have a real name eventually.

My plan for this fic is to bring it up a notch. Make the heroes a little more confused, the bad guys a little more evil, the danger a little more personal. I'll try not to be over-the-top dramatic. But this story will have, I think, a more – sinister – mood.

I think. At least, it's supposed to. Granted, I haven't written it yet.

In advance, sorry if the legal stuff is off, there's only so much accurate information I can find online. If anyone reading is a lawyer or something, or at least just knows law – or psychology, for that matter – please, email me. Even if you just know of some good research web sites. I can't guarantee there'll be no creative license, but I'd appreciate the information. This whole fic's gonna need it.

**C h a p t e r ****O n e   
So-Called Normal**

. - . - . - .

Sam climbed out of the taxi and shivered as the cold wind hit her. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat, she squinted up at the building in front of her as the taxi pulled away. Long strands of blonde hair blew across her face, further obscuring her vision. Head bent, she walked quickly to the door and pressed the button next to it.

The door buzzed and then clicked, and Samantha stepped inside.

The interior of the building had the feel of an old library: well-used and worn, but well-loved. Sam made her way up to the second floor, found the apartment she was looking for, and knocked. There was the sound of footsteps, then a pause. _Good,_ thought Sam with a half-smile, _she screens her visitors_.

Then the chain was draw back and the door opened.

"Hey." Sam stepped into the apartment.

. - . - . - .

Dina shut the door behind Agent Spade and carefully replaced the lock. Turning, she hesitated, still slightly awkward around successful people. She smiled self-consciously and gestured to the couch. Agent Spade smiled back and sat on the very edge of the thrift shop sofa, obviously not entirely relaxed either, and Dina took the seat across from her.

The agent was tired, Dina could tell, and worried about something, but she appreciated the visit. She got precious little support as it was, and she could easily admit to herself that if Agent Spade hadn't stepped up to help, Kelly would be far away and Dina would be going mad back on the street, or else she would be…

"Thanks for stopping by, I… I really appreciate everything you've done for me."

Agent Spade smiled again. "How's Kelly?"

"She's… okay, I think. I'm not sure she quite knows what… what to make of me yet. She's at Emily's now, across the hall. Emily watches her when I get busy," Dina added, somewhat unnecessarily. She warned herself not to babble.

Agent Spade nodded. "And how are you doing?"

Dina looked down and tried not to fidget. How was she doing? She wished someone would tell her, because she had no idea _what_ she was doing, let alone how. "Okay. I'm still a little new at this Mom stuff. The responsibilities… well, every girl grows up someday, right?" She gave a hopeless smile.

Agent Spade leaned forward. "You grew up before you should have, Dina, and I'm… I'm sorry about that." She paused, as if collecting her thoughts. "When it gets hard, remember that you're doing this for Kelly. So she won't grow up so fast, the way you did."

"I wouldn't have gotten custody if you hadn't believed in me."

"I wouldn't have believed in you if you hadn't given me reason to."

Pause. _Neither of us is good at these things_, thought Dina.

"I got a job – waitressing."

"That's good. Where?"

"Just a lousy diner across the street, but I like it." She glanced away, then looked back at the agent. "I don't hate myself so much anymore."

"That's good," Agent Spade repeated softly.

"And Kelly likes the juke box. She's big on music. She sings in the bath tub. I… I used to sing in the bath tub."

"She's a beautiful little girl."

"I love her so much."

"Then I think you're doing fine." Agent Spade stood up. "I have to get to work."

"Oh. Okay." Dina walked with her to the door.

. - . - . - .

Sam gazed absently out the window all the way to the office.

Dina seemed to be getting on all right. _Easy parenting_ books stacked by the sofa. Empty cereal box in the trash can. Green crayon on the rug. It was all new to her, Sam could tell, but it was working.

She was glad. Someone ought to have a happy ending.

Six months since Jack had first put Carolynn Casper's picture up on the whiteboard. Six months since Sam had left the hospital. Five since she and Martin had started going out, and she'd gotten a new apartment. Five since Richard Hirsch had gotten out of the hospital and gone to prison, thirty year sentence, no parole. Only two months since Kelly had gone to live with Dina.

And eighteen days since Kylar Rose Sanford was born. Four pounds, eleven ounces. Small, but healthy, rosy-cheeked and bald, with wide brown eyes the color of her mother's. Cai was delighted in a way that made Sam smile and ache at the same time.

Happy endings. Yes, for some people.

She would arrive at the office. Maybe meet Martin's eyes, which would be on her when she walked passed his desk, for a brief moment. Sit at her work-cluttered, photo-less desk. Watch someone else's face get plastered up on the board. Jump into someone else's life, maybe save the day. Happy ending.

Maybe not.

But she _was_ happy, maybe for the first time in a while. Boyfriend, job, life.

Of course, the nightmares were still there. She found that she no longer remembered what she dreamed. The images were never there when she woke. Instead, she woke most mornings with a sense of dread, foreboding. Once or twice she'd come awake reaching for her gun with no real idea as to why, or what exactly she'd seen that night. This, in her opinion, was worse. Better to face your fears, because how can you fight a feeling?

Mentally, she still flinched involuntarily when a man touched her, though she'd never admit as much to Martin. Partially because she was determined to pretend she didn't, and partially because sometimes she actually believed that she didn't.

On their first date, Martin had showed up with three white lilies edged in purple and tied with a pink ribbon. She'd laughed and acknowledged, silently, his thoughtfulness: she did not think she would have been able to take a red rose.

So yes, there were after effects of being victimized, and God, she should know; psychology had been one of her favorite classes in college. But she was dealing with them, and for the most part, she was happy.

Boyfriend, job, life.

Happy endings. Just maybe.

The taxi pulled up in front of the FBI building and Sam got out, resisting the urge to physically shake her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Two goals: focus. And find the missing person.

Sam went to work.

. - . - . - .

He would be careful, he knew. He had internet privileges - he'd been reading, online. It was all about control, self-control. Planning. Time. Thinking things through. Using the possibilities. Getting shot changed a man. No more rash actions – he did not intend to die any time soon. Have specific objectives. Know what you're doing. _Predict_ the adversary's response, and you own the game.

He could do it.

She was always in his head, so much that it drove him mad. But in some ways that comforted him. She was trapped, imprisoned, _caged_ in his mind. He'd put her there, and she couldn't get out. It was the one place in which she could never escape from him, and he liked having her there.

In his mind, he _owned_ her. He was the director, choreographing his little games and watching her fear him. He found it ironic that the number one reason he was so determined to have her was the thought of her, herself. It really was true, the stuff on the internet that so-called _normal_ people found rediculous – he was willing to bet that nine times out of ten, it really was the so-called victim's fault. If these _normal_ women would just stay out of men's heads… It made him angry, that a woman could work her way inside the mind like that, taunting, inviting, begging, judging – and then call the police when he tried to do something about it!

Sometimes he thought he might be going a little crazy. Other times he just thought he was human. Either way, he knew he would have to do something about that damned blonde FBI agent – and of course it _would_ take an agent to get into _his_ head – or the images would never die. And then she would have won.

And he so _hated_ losing.

. - . - . - .

**So begins PrivII. What do you think?**


	3. t w o : Hirsch, Richard

**P A S S A G E **_  
__Sequel to Privilege  
_(temporary title)

**A/N**: So, it's been a while, but here's Chapter Two. I'm still gathering my thoughts, drawing story webs, scrawling sudden inspirations in the corners of my school notebooks - that sort of thing. But I think it's all coming together rather nicely.

This chapter was interesting to write. Not difficult, exactly, just interesting. Considered a bunch of different PoVs, different ways of presenting what I wanted to happen, and finally went with this. Turned out okay, I think, though not quite the way I had planned.

But whatever. I'll just shut up now and let you read.

**C h a p t e r T w o   
Hirsch, Richard**

. - . - . - .

Martin sighed as he studied the picture up on the whiteboard. Gregory Henley, sixty-eight, Alzheimer's. Wife deceased, one daughter grown up and too busy to give him anything besides a place to live, one son in the military. Wandered away from church yesterday morning, never seen since.

These were never good cases.

"New lead."

Martin turned to see Danny standing behind him.

"Man down in a grocery store says he saw our missing person. Viv's heading over there now to get security camera footage."

Martin nodded. "It's a good start."

"Yeah. These cases aren't hopeless, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Is Sam in yet?"

"Hey, you would know better than I would."

"Very funny."

"Wasn't meant to be." Danny grinned at him and turned away, back to his desk.

Martin, too, returned to his desk, and after staring idly at the screen for a moment, clicked on a file in the corner of it. A window popped up. **HIRSCH, RICHARD**, the heading announced in bold black print. Martin scrolled down, skimming the page, his mouth set in a grim line.

_Second-Degree Aggravated Harassment…  
__First-Degree Stalking…  
__Attempted Rape_…

The list went on.

Martin wondered how the hell _Hirsch, Richard_ had gotten off with a thirty year sentence. If it had been up to him, Martin would have killed the man. He'd never been big on the death penalty, but these days, he just didn't know anymore. Sometimes he watched her, he saw how tired she was, and he knew she wasn't sleeping well. And Sam had always been a hard worker, but it seemed that she no longer wanted to leave work at all. He suspected she had spent more than one night curled up at her desk, squinting at her computer screen and trying desperately to save whomever it was that needed saving at the time.

Some days Martin wanted nothing more than to beat up _Hirsch, Richard_ for what he'd done, and tried to do, to Samantha Spade. Mostly, though, he wanted nothing more than to beat up himself, for what _he hadn't_ done.

Just then, the office door swung open and Sam strode in. Martin quickly closed the window and looked up.

Their eyes met, locked; parted.

Sam walked to the whiteboard to survey the photograph and the words scrawled around it in black marker. _Gregory Henley, sixty-eight…_ Martin watched her mouth form the words. He smiled sadly, and mentally whispered, _you can't save them all_…

. - . - . - .

Jack sat in his office, bent over the paperwork in front of him. Every now and then he'd glance up at the photo of Gregory Henley tacked up on the board; the more he learned, the more he couldn't help thinking that his dad would have liked the guy. Or at least, his dad would have wanted to look out for the guy. Gregory Henley seemed a sad, accepting sort of man, one you would naturally want to take care of.

Pity the Henley children hadn't felt the same.

Just then the phone rang, interrupting his musings. Without looking up, he reached over the papers and files stacked on his desk to pick up the receiver. "Malone." He transferred the phone to his left ear and continued writing.

Suddenly he stopped, halfway through a sentence. "What?" His voice was uncharacteristically sharp. "How did this happen?"

Pause. Jack slowly put his pen down and rubbed his forehead.

"Uh-huh. How long ago?"

Pause.

"Thanks."

Slowly, deliberately, Jack replaced the receiver. He stared unseeingly at his paperwork for a moment before moving his gaze to the bullpen. His eyes sought and found Samantha, and he sat for a moment longer.

Then he stood up, and in the determined manner with which he always met tough situations, he pushed open his door and walked to Samantha's desk.

She looked up with a small smile. "Hey, Jack. What's up?"

He said, "I just got a phone call."

She waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she sighed and dropped her gaze to the desk. "What is it?"

"Samantha... Richard Hirsch walked out of the prison library nine forty-seven Friday morning with a gun to the librarian's head. He demanded a car, drove away, ditched it in an alley eight miles down the road. They're still searching for him." He hesitated, watching her. "I'm… sorry."

Sam went perfectly still. She took a deep, silent breath. She nodded once, slowly, bowing her head in acceptance. Then she swallowed and looked back up at Jack, attempting a smile. "Thanks for telling me."

He was still watching her. "Are you gonna be okay, or should I get someone to take you home?"

"No, I'm fine. But thanks."

"Sam -"

"I'm fine, Jack."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Jack broke away. "Okay." He turned and left.

. - . - . - .

Sam waited until Jack had reentered his office and sat down at his desk before she got up and walked as normally as possible out of the bullpen and into the hallway. Shooting one last glance behind her to make sure Jack had not noticed, or at least was pretending not to notice, she headed for the nearest bathroom.

She had to keep her "normal" in place for another minute, while she waited for one of the secretaries to wash her hands and leave. The woman, whom she knew only by sight, smiled at her on the way out, and Sam felt obliged to return the expression. Only when she was finally alone did she allow herself to sag against the wall, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror and waiting for her heart to slow down.

. - . - . - .

**A/N: Thanks goes out to _Close to Home_, **another awesome show, which inspired the whole librarian-as-hostage jailbreak thing. Someday I really should write a C2H fanfic. But it will be a while.

Review, please, so I know people are actually bothering to read this.

**:-) (-:**


	4. t h r e e : Night

**P A S S A G E **_  
__Sequel to Privilege  
_(temporary title)

**A/N**: Finally! Exams are over, school is out – and I am back to writing WaT fanfiction at one in the morning.

So I know I've already mentioned some of the differences between Privilege and its sequel, specifically the darker tone of this fic. Another difference: Privilege began with one scene and evolved into a complicated story line as I wrote it. For instance, I was probably more than a quarter of the way through before I even began to toy with the idea of Dylan Casper and the affair. While this sometimes led to complications in making what I wanted to write match what I had already written, the actual writing was easier to do because I wasn't limited by a pre-conceived plan. This fic is different. I know sequels are usually (no, not always, don't jump at me) cheap rip-offs of their origins, often in the too-much-of-a-good-thing category and only written because the author doesn't want to admit to him- or herself that the first work is done. Because of this, I've already mapped out the entire main plot of this fic, if only to prove to myself that this fic has a purpose, that it is a new story in itself – a real continuation, not just a dragged-out ending of Privilege. So now I have to consult my lists and charts whenever I sit down to write. The point is, the writing process of this fic is a bit different from that of Privilege, so please hang in there and bear with me.

Going back to the darker tone thing. A warning: I'm thinking the rating of this fic may go up in the future, if only as a precaution. Like I said, the idea is that this fic goes deeper, pushes you closer to the edge. I'm not sure yet exactly how close.

On a lighter note: as you read this chapter, please do not try to remember who Sean and Shannen are, because you have never met them before. Everyone else – barring the random agents – you should recognize.

Man, this is a long Author's Note. Does anybody actually read these?

**C h a p t e r T h r e e   
Night**

. - . - . - .

Sam jerked awake and stared into the chilly darkness around her. Her breath was coming fast but dead silent; she dared not make a sound. If she could not see him, logic told her that he could not see her. She was trained for this. She could wait it out, she could beat the blackness. Wait for him to make the first move, then attack. Her grip tightened on her gun and she pulled the safety back.

It clicked in her hand, and the small sound reverberated in the room. Sam looked down.

Her gun. She was holding her _gun_.

The nightmares had never been that bad before.

She forced herself to take a breath, close her eyes. When she opened them again, she could see a little better.

Window shut, door closed. There was no one in the room. _Of course not_.

She could turn on the light, she thought. The lamp on the bedside table was bright enough. The only furniture in the room was her bed, the table, a dresser, and the bench under the window. Not many places for shadows to thrive.

Yes, she could turn on the light. But she wouldn't.

_What kind of FBI agent is scared of the dark?_

Slowly she clicked the safety back in place. She lowered the gun.

_I could have shot someone tonight._

She gently placed the gun onto the table, then got up and walked to the window. Parked across the street was the snow-dusted, unmarked FBI van where, she knew, two bored and overtired fellow agents kept watch. She hadn't wanted them but Jack had insisted, and Sam had been too worn out to argue with him. I can take care of myself, she had said. I know you can, he had replied. But I don't want to take any chances. And that was that. She gave in and went home, pretending not to notice the van that followed her taxi to her apartment. She had given the two men a brief, half-hearted smile on her way in. They had been there ever since.

I can take care of myself, she had said a few hours ago.

_Cause I did such a great job of that last time, right, Jack?_

. - . - . - .

He could just barely make out her silhouette as she moved away from the window. Why couldn't she turn the damn light on? He hadn't seen her in months. God knows it had taken long enough to find her new apartment. She was more careful, he'd noticed. She never took the same route home, if she could help it. She watched the people around her more, and whether she knew it or not, she always managed to keep considerable distance between herself and any strange man she met. Just watching her fascinated him.

Oh, he knew now that he'd been wrong in the beginning. He'd thought they were destined to be together, that that was why she had come into his life; to become his. He'd thought she'd be his One.

But he was wrong. She was as treacherous and deceitful as any other woman, teasing, tantalizing, and screaming when he got too close. She thought she had gotten rid of him.

He was not a man to be gotten rid of. And Samantha Spade was going to learn that the hard way.

. - . - . - .

Danny's cell phone started buzzing around on his nightstand at precisely two twenty-three in the morning. Danny groaned and rolled over.

Insistent, the phone began ringing shrilly. Danny snatched it off the nightstand, rubbed his eyes, checked the caller ID, and flipped it open. "This better be good. I'm trying to get my beauty sleep, you know?"

Sean didn't laugh. "Hey, man, sorry to wake you. You said keep an eye on the ER. Thought you'd wanna know right away."

Danny's breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he sat up. "She there?"

"Just came in. Slashed her wrists. Dad found her unconscious in the bathroom."

"And?"

"Stable. Still unconscious, but she should wake up soon." Pause. "Want me to call Shannen? She could - "

"No, it's okay, um, I'll be down there in fifteen, alright? Make sure they'll let me in."

"You got it, bro."

"Yeah, thanks, man."

Danny ended the call and got out of bed. He had been waiting for this call and hoping not to get it. Almost five months ago, when Carolynn had finally been allowed to leave the hospital, he had known she wasn't ready. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she stared past the people around her and the way she wouldn't meet his gaze.

He had known somehow, instinctively, that she would try again.

And now they had to talk.

. - . - . - .


	5. f o u r : Click

**P A S S A G E _  
_**_Sequel to Privilege  
_(temporary title)

**A/N**: YAY! They reran "From the Ashes" last Thursday! I taped it so I could rewatch it, which I did tonight with my sister. So here I am, writing another chapter in the very early hours of the morning.

**C h a p t e r F o u r   
Click**

. - . - . - .

Danny was already at his desk by the time Vivian got into work. He replied to her greeting with a dead-sounding "g'morning," and rubbed his eyes.

"Long night?"

"All too short."

She paused by his desk, coffee cup in hand, waited for him to explain.

"Carolynn Casper."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. She tried to kill herself. Again. Last night."

Vivian shut her eyes, sighed; looked at Danny. "She okay?"

"Yeah, sure, for now."

Vivian gave him a sad smile and continued on to her desk, thinking about people and the things they hold onto. She glanced at Gregory Henley as she passed the whiteboard, met his eyes.

Dropping her bag beside her chair, she shifted the paperwork on her desk to one side, adjusted the photo of Reggie from last Christmas, set her coffee down on the mouse pad, and sat.

Danny was staring at the opposite wall.

Vivian shook her head and turned to study the open file on her desk. PHONE RECORD, it said, and she skimmed it. A call to a neighbor, two to a local hair salon. Four to various family members; one to a radio station. Ms. Henley wasn't home much, and apparently her father wasn't particularly into telephone conversations.

Near the end was a two-minute call to JOSEPH BENNETT, a name Vivian did not recognize. She entered the name into the database and printed the address the search returned.

. - . - . - .

The house Vivian now stood in front of was old. It was small and modest, and the white paint was peeling and tinged with yellow. But there were flowers in the window boxes, the yard was tidy, and the tired-looking Ford in the driveway displayed an NYU bumper sticker.

Vivian's knock was answered by a tall girl in a baggy sweatshirt with her hair carelessly pulled back to hang to her waist. Early twenties, Viv thought.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked.

"Maybe you can. Is this the home of Joseph Bennett?"

"I guess." Seeing Viv's enquiring look, she said, "He hasn't been home for weeks. Business trip to LA. He's my father," she added.

"Miss Bennett, Vivian Johnson from the FBI. May I come in?"

The girl tilted her head to one side, then stepped back to make room for Vivian to enter. "Rachel Bennett. What's this about?"

Vivian followed Rachel into the living room and took the seat the girl gestured to. "I was wondering what you could tell me about Gregory Henley."

Rachel screwed up her nose. "Who's that?"

"Someone who called this house last Saturday, about quarter of five in the morning."

Realization showed on her face. "Oh! That. I didn't know the man on the other end, though. I thought he was just some drunk guy or something, going on about the tree house, let's meet at the tree house. I thought he was crazy, 'til he said something about 'Lizzie Anne'. I know the woman who lived here before me was Elizabeth Anne Smith; I still get her mail sometimes. Just last week an old friend of hers died, I don't know who, but someone sent a fruit basket." She pointed to the counter where the basket sat, still in its wrapping. "Wanted to send it back, but there's no return address. Just doesn't seem right to open it, though. You know, with 'deepest sympathies' written on the card and all."

"Did he say anything about where the tree house might be?"

"Um… no, or at least I don't think so. He said… 'Tell Click. Click will be there.' Or something like that."

"Click?"

Rachel shrugged. "That's what it sounded like."

. - . - . - .

Martin looked up as Vivian reentered the bullpen. She seemed determined, and perhaps lost in thought. She walked to the whiteboard and added to the timeline: Tries to contact old friend about 'tree house' and 'Click'.

_There's a story there_, thought Martin. He looked over at Sam; she too studied the timeline. His gaze moved to Danny. Danny was not looking at the whiteboard; he was talking on the phone. "I'll come by tonight," he said. "I want her on the watch list. Okay, thanks. Yeah. Bye."

. - . - . - .

It was late when Sam left work. She shared the elevator with Martin on the way down to the parking lot. Neither of them said anything; they never did. They chose instead to bask in companionable silence. Martin flagged downa taxi for her like a true gentleman, and she smiled and thanked him.

She was half way home when her cell phone rang. She checked the display; the number was unfamiliar.

"Spade."

"Agent Spade? This is… This is Dina Kingston."

"Dina. What is it?"

"It's Kelly. I have to work tonight, and Emily just called – something came up, she'll be gone all week... I, I have no right to ask this, but I don't know who else to call."

Sam smiled. "You need a babysitter."

"Would you mind? I just – I can't afford to lose my job. Not now."

"I know. When's your shift?"

"Half an hour."

Sam glanced out the window and came up with an estimate. "Give me twenty minutes."

"Thank you so much."

"Sure."

They hung up.

Sam put her phone away and stretched. She had planned to get home, put something in the microwave, fall asleep watching reruns of _Friends_.

Wake up in the middle of the night groping for her gun, utterly alone in the dark.

Perhaps it was better this way. By the time she got home, she would be so tired that she might actually sleep through the night. _Worth a shot_.

Remembering the agents stationed in front of her apartment, she fished out her phone again to give them a heads up. When she got home, she asked the taxi driver to wait, then popped inside to change into jeans and a sweater. Setting her badge and her gun on the kitchen table, she left the apartment, locking the door behind her.


	6. f i v e : Choice

**P A S S A G E _  
_**_Sequel to Privilege  
_(temporary title)

**A/N**: Time to speed up the story a little.

**C h a p t e r F i v e   
Choice**

. - . - . - .

Kelly sat at the kitchen table with half a blue crayon clutched in her fist and the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swayed to the strokes of her hand, and in front of her, Grover's outline steadily gained color.

Opposite the four-year-old, Sam absentmindedly traced Elmo's nose with a bright orange crayon, her attention divided between Kelly and work.

Some good leads on Gregory Henley; none on Richard Hirsch. The man had dropped off the face of the earth. _As long as he stays there_, she thought.

The next thing she thought stirred up the nightmares again, and she automatically shut them out, fiddling with the orange crayon. To her surprise, they fell away more easily than normal. Her gaze fastened on Kelly, and she smiled. There was absolutely no way Sam was having kids any time in the near future, but she had found in the past hour that for some reason, she felt much safer here with Kelly then she would have at her own apartment. _The one constantly watched finally gets to do the watching_. But she knew that wasn't all of it.

Sam glanced at the clock, and decided it was past Kelly's bedtime. Ten minutes later had the girl climbing into bed, one hand gripping a small, pale non-animal, one of those stuffed critters that isn't really a bear. Kelly watched Samantha with an earnest expression, her four-year-old version of deep thought. Seeing it, Sam hesitated, hand poised to switch the bedside lamp off.

"You okay?"

"Yes." The little girl looked up. Sam noticed that the non-animal's stiff arms had been sewn on in such a way that the creature seemed to be reaching outward, eternally imploring some unseen specter.

"Okay. Sleep tight."

Kelly blinked. Samantha switched off the light and stood up in the darkness. Carefully, she picked her way back to the door, and had just put her hand on the knob when the blackness behind her said, "Dina likes you a lot. She told me so."

Noting the absence of a certain "m" word, Sam turned back. She could just make out the small girl's shape by the light drifting in through the curtain-less bedroom window. "I like her, too."

"Why?"

Samantha was startled, but remained still. "What makes you ask that?"

The answer was hesitant. "I stayed with Mrs. Curtis before. She was sad when I left with Dina. She said Dina was not a good example. She said it."

Samantha exhaled softly.

"And the man in the suit said bad things about her. I heard him. He doesn't like Dina either."

Her eyes now mostly adjusted to the darkness, Sam sat back down on the side of the bed and wondered about the best way to handle all this. "Kelly, Dina made some bad choices. Everyone makes bad choices." Her gaze again went to the non-animal's silent entreaty. "What separates good people from bad people is that good people are sorry for the bad choices they make, and want to change them." And now her eyes returned to the girl. "Kelly, Dina is sorry for the bad choices she made. She changed, because she loves you, and she doesn't want anything bad to happen to you. She loves you no matter what the other people say." Samantha could see a flicker of a smile on Kelly's face. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Sam got up, but Kelly again spoke.

"Samantha?"

"Yes?"

"I like Dina."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad."

"…Samantha?"

"Yes?"

"…I like you, too."

. - . - . - .

Danny studied the girl before him. She was much changed from when he had last seen her; her blonde hair hung limp to her waist in neglect, there were blue-ish circles under bluer eyes, and her nose was pink. Her hands lay lifelessly at her sides, wrapped almost to the elbows in white bandages, and she looked past him, and said nothing.

"Well, Carolynn, that was very stupid."

The girl barely blinked.

"I don't know how you think that will solve anything – " He sat down in the plastic chair by the bed, gesturing to her covered wrists. She only stared at the wall.

"So the nurse tells me you've taken a vow of silence, huh? A sort of screw-the-world attitude." He paused. No response. "Alright then. I'll just have to talk to myself."

So saying, he leaned back in the chair to get more comfortable, folded his hands on his knee, and looked out the window.

"There's this case that I'm working on. This old guy, Greg Henley…"

. - . - . - .

Business was slow at the diner tonight. Two old men sat at the bar, and one young couple flirted in a booth in the corner. The only other customer was a very blonde young man, sitting alone in front of a window with his back to the room. It was to his table that Dina had been assigned, and now she walked over to him, pulling out her notepad and hoping that his meal would be quick; she wanted to finish up and go home.

"Ready to order?"

He looked up, studied her, and she found that though there was nothing inappropriate in his gaze, she didn't like him. _Perhaps he's a bad tipper_, she thought tiredly.

He ordered a coffee, black, and whatever the special was, and she trudged back to the bar. Just then the door of the diner opened and let in a stream of laughing teenagers in coats and boots, who promptly made their way to the center of the dining area; two of the tables they filled were hers.

Dina leaned back against the bar, giving the kids time to settle and look at their menus and waiting for the other man's order. She glanced at her watch, sighed, and pulled out her cell phone. She was going to be home later than she'd expected. She found the cell number Samantha Spade had given her – she wouldn't dial the home phone, she didn't want to wake Kelly – and pressed the green button.

"Spade."

"Agent Spade, this is Dina." And by the window, the lone man stiffened, unnoticed.

. - . - . - .

The girl on the phone finished her conversation and hung up, then went about her business. Who was she? He knew Samantha had gone into the building across the street, but not what she was doing there.He considered the girl as she moved to another table. Young, pretty. Tired, but trying not to show it. What did this waitress have to do with his Samantha? A relative? But he knew of no relatives, and anyway, he could see little resemblance between the girl and Samantha Spade. A friend, then? Or just an acquaintance?

She turned to approach his table, and he looked away.

"Can I help you with anything else?"

Slowly he met her eyes. "Perhaps, Miss. Perhaps."

. - . - . - .

**A/N: oops, 4am. Well, reviews always welcome.**


	7. s i x : Angels

**P A S S A G E _  
_**_Sequel to Privilege  
_(temporary title)

**A/N**: WaT premieres on Sunday the 24th! Though I wish they'd kept it on a Thursday. Oh well, they moved my Sunday shows to Thursday, so I guess it all works out in the end.

This chapter was hard to write, and I don't really know why. It was harder to keep everybody in-character than it normally is. But I hope you guys like it, and as always, reviews are appreciated!

**C h a p t e r S i x   
Angels**

. - . - . - .

By the time Dina got home, Samantha was again sitting at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around the coffee mug in front of her. She handed a second mug to Dina, who took it gratefully and fell into an empty chair.

"How'd it go?"

Dina shrugged. "It's necessary. Not that my feet care."

"I can imagine."

This time the silence was more peaceful than awkward.

"I hope Kelly wasn't too much trouble."

"Not at all. She's a very sweet girl." Pause. "She likes you, you know."

Dina looked up, met her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Longer silence. Both women sipped their coffee, lost in their thoughts.

"Agent Spade?"

"Samantha.

Dina hesitated, then smiled a little. "Samantha, I don't understand why you're so good to me. I'm a screwed-up ex-whore who probably caused you a lot of trouble, and now I can't even seem to…" she shrugged.

Samantha rested her mug on the table. "That's who you were, Dina, not who you are. I admire you. No, I do," She added, when Dina laughed. "I wouldn't have been strong enough to do what you did. Really."

"Thanks."

"I mean it. So you can stop thanking me and apologizing every time I talk to you! You make me feel like a saint or something."

Dina shook her head. "No, an angel. Like that TV show that used to be on."

"_Touched by an Angel_?"

"You watch it?"

"Sometimes."

"Me too. I used to wish that one day… are you sure you don't have wings?"

"Not unless they've grown while I've been sitting here. Anyhow, you didn't need an angel. You did what you did by yourself. I just helped the legal process along."

"Well, thank God for that."

They smiled at each other, and laughed. In her room, Kelly blinked sleepily and smiled.

. - . - . - .

Danny was tired. He'd talked about the case, his friends, the hospital, what he'd eaten for lunch, even the weather. No response from the girl on the long white bed. He was a patient man, but even he had his limits this late at night, especially after getting up so early that morning. And by now he was worn out.

He stood up, stretched, and pulled his coat on, not looking at Carolynn as he spoke to her. "Well, time for me to go home. We don't all get to spend our days moping in bed. Gotta go back to work tomorrow, see what I can do for poor old Mr. Henley. But I'll try to stop in again; you ain't seen the last of me."

He picked up his briefcase and paused, looking at her. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and he sighed. "Take care, kid."

Then he turned, and left the room.

He trudged down the hallway, turned left, waited for the elevator. He was halfway across the waiting room, heading for the door, when he saw her.

Cai Sanford sat cross-legged in a chair in the corner, twisting a rubber band between her fingers. Danny hesitated before making his way over to her. He stopped in front of her, and she looked up.

"How is she?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"She is… not going to die."

Cai nodded and looked down. "That's good."

"Yes, it is." Noticing that she was alone, he asked, "Where's Kylar Rose?"

Cai seemed surprised that he remembered her newborn's name. "She's at home with Rissa."

"You're living with your mother now."

"Yeah."

He nodded. "Is she here?"

Cai shook her head.

"Does she know you are?"

Another negative.

A pause. "Does Carolynn?"

One more shake of the head.

Danny considered the girl in front of him, then made a decision. "You should go home. It's late and visiting hours are long over." He himself had only managed to see Carolynn though the influence of his friend who worked in the hospital, and his badge. "There's nothing you can do for her now."

She nodded, but did not move from her seat.

His voice was gentle. "C'mon. I'll give you a ride. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"Then let's get going." He took her hand and pulled her up off the chair, and she smiled weakly at him. He held the door for her on the way out, and led the way to his car.

. - . - . - .

He'd followed the waitress back to her apartment building. Samantha, he assumed, was still inside, and when she left she would probably go straight home.

He had found, recently, that he no longer required much sleep. Adrenaline, secrecy, and the need for vengeance and satisfaction made a killer cocktail. He therefore had the rest of the night to discover exactly who his pretty little waitress was, and how she might help him get to Samantha.

Dina, her name was. Odd name. Vaguely familiar, actually. Dina what?

She had a kid, that much he had understood from her phone conversation. A kid currently being watched by Samantha. Kailey, was it? No, Kelly. And since when did Samantha baby-sit?

Young mother, night waitress, friend of an FBI agent. Probably no man in the picture, based on his observations, but he would have to make sure.

When enough time had passed, he walked casually to the door of the building and scanned the list of names, one next to each button. Which might be Dina's?

Conner, Williams, Hayes, Kingston… Kingston. Why did that…?

_Oh._ He blinked. Dina Kingston_. No way._ He smiled to himself, tucked his hands into his coat pockets, and walked away.

. - . - . - .


	8. s e v e n : Insomnia

**P A S S A G E _  
_**_Sequel to Privilege  
_

**A/N**: Sorry this is taking so long. My life's a little weird right now, and it's hard to find the time to sit down and write something. Thanks so much for your continued support, and know that I do plan to finish this fic. It just may take a while.

At least things are building up. The chapter after this should be a big one.

**C h a p t e r S e v e n   
Insomnia**

. - . - . - .

Sam helped Dina wash the dishes and then left. She arrived home to find Martin's car in her driveway. He got out as she walked toward him, carrying two Chinese take-out bags.

"Hey. Before you ask, I've been here about fifteen minutes, and your bodyguards there were starting to get antsy." He nodded to the FBI van across the street.

"And to what do I owe the honor?"

"What, I have to have a reason to bring you food?" He held up his take-out bags, and she gave him a dubious look.

"Okay, fine." He shrugged sheepishly. "You weren't answering your phone. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

She sighed. "Martin –"

"Sam."

She glared at him.

"You know I have every right to worry about you right now."

Shaking her head, she took one of his take-out bags. "I went to Dina's."

"Kingston?"

Sam nodded. "Come inside, I'm freezing out here."

"Yeah, and I think your bodyguards are gonna shoot me."

"Very funny."

. - . - . - .

Jack looked up as Vivian entered the bullpen, file in one hand, coffee cup in the other. He watched her as she walked to her desk, ignoring him, and sat down. "Viv, what're you doing here?"

She replied without turning around. "Working."

"C'mon, it's late. Go home."

"I could tell you the same thing, but," she said, "I don't." She grabbed the paper her computer had just spit out and slid it up onto the whiteboard.

"That is?"

"Old photo of our missing person as a young boy, got it from his daughter. Two friends in the picture. The girl is Elizabeth Anne Smith, boy is Jacob Winton, aka "Click".

"Click?"

"Yes, and recently deceased. Now, Joseph Bennett's daughter told me that on the phone, Gregory asked her to meet him at the tree house, and bring Click."

"...Believing, because of his Alzheimer's, that he was talking to Smith."

"Exactly. So here's what I'm thinking. Jacob Winton dies, Gregory hears about it. His condition and his grief spring him back in time to the good old days, and he tries to arrange a get-together."

"The only problem being that he's a seventy-year-old man, not a schoolboy."

Vivian nodded. "We've got to find this tree house."

. - . - . - .

Danny watched to make sure Cai got in okay before he backed out of the driveway. He waited until he'd turned a corner and her house was out of sight before pulling into the nearest parking lot, which happened to be in front of an ice-cream parlor closed for the winter. He closed his eyes and leaned back without taking his hands from the wheel, and sighed.

He didn't know why he kept doing this to himself. He'd known the girls' cases were getting to him, but he'd promised himself that he could remain professional, unemotional. Apparently he wasn't as professional as he'd thought. Their case had wrapped up _months_ ago, but…

"It's never really over," he said out loud, and his voice sounded strangely hollow as it disturbed the silence around him.

He should go home. He should sleep. God knows he hadn't gotten enough last night, and it was already late, and he had to go to work tomorrow.

Strange, then, how he found himself driving back to the hospital.

. - . - . - .

It was perfect. It was just too damn perfect.

He'd had this friend once, real loser of a guy. Teeg Jenson, or something like it. A year ago, maybe. Pimp. Good at his job, and nothing else. An empty-headed idiot. Nothing the guy had said was particularly worth remembering, except…

Now, as he crouched in the shadows beside Dina Kingston's building, he grinned. One thing he remembered from Teeg, one drunken tale that had stuck with him, like a favorite bedtime story. The guy got his start lending out his girlfriend to his guy friends for cash. Girl had the nerve to dump him – made him real angry - but went on to become a full-fledged whore anyway. Wasn't that irony for you.

Of course, the fact that she now hung out with FBI personnel meant that something must have changed. But no matter. He'd get his revenge on Sam, and the fact that this was Teeg's despised ex would be an added bonus.

Dina Kingston would never see it coming.

. - . - . - .


	9. e i g h t : Silence

**P A S S A G E _  
_**_Sequel to Privilege _

**A/N**: Be warned: another dark chapter. But I'm happy with the way it came out; I think it conveys a lot of the emotion that's been building up – happy and sad. Some good moments. Plus, the story is finally getting somewhere. So this chapter is kind of a big one. Please let me know what you think!

**C h a p t e r E i g h t   
Silence**

. - . - . - .

"You know, Carolynn, I am not supposed to be here."

Eyes on the ceiling.

"I had to get my ER buddy to smuggle me in here."

Still no response.

Danny sat down in the same plastic chair he had occupied just about an hour ago. For a moment, he simply stared at the still, silent girl on the bed. He could see the bulge of her belly under the white hospital sheets. Technically, she should still have over a month and a half to go, but the doctors had warned him that given her age and weight, there was a high chance of an early delivery.

Danny sighed and leaned back in his chair. Purposefully, he fixed his eyes on the rough, gray-white ceiling as well and thought a minute before he began,

"I grew up in a crap neighborhood. Gang shootings, drug dealing, you name it. Lived in some shabby flat with my mom, my dad, my brother. Girl next door was Gabriella. Gabby. You know, all the guys love her, all the girls hate her.

"I had my own girl, but Gabby and I were friends. Grew up together. We used to hang out behind the corner deli, drinking, smoking, whatever, but mostly just talking and watching the trash blow down the street.

"One day she didn't show, so I went to see what was up. Found her curled on the floor in her room, holding her stomach and crying. She told me to go away… I went away.

"Next day her mother stumbled down the stairs and told us she was dead."

Carolynn let out a small, barely audible breath. Danny kept his eyes determinedly on the ceiling.

"Gabby hung herself in her room. We found out later she was pregnant. Never did learn who the father was, or why she was so upset. She was just gone."

There was no sound in the room but Danny's voice and Carolynn's shallow breathing.

"Her mom was in shock. Wandered out of the flat a week or so later and never came back. Her dad drank heavier and heavier, until one day he woke up and realized that he had nothing left and smashed everything in reach. Last I saw him he was a bitter, angry old man."

Danny paused and took a deep breath. He steeled himself, and finally turned to look at the girl on the bed. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Carolynn, you have a father who loves you very much. You have a best friend who never meant to hurt you." Pause. "You have me, who sits here talking to the ceiling on the off chance that something will get through to you. And most of all, you have a small, innocent _child_, who's already survived so much, who already loves you, and who needs you to pull through this." Another pause, then softly, fiercely, "I walked away from Gabby. You can ignore me all you want, Carolynn, but I don't make the same mistake twice. I'm not walking away this time. Get used to it."

There was a small sound from the bed. Danny let out his breath and closed his eyes in relief. _Thank God_, he thought. Thank God.

Carolynn was crying.

. - . - . - .

After Sam left, Dina poured herself another mug of coffee and leaned against the counter for a moment. She looked around her small, quiet kitchen with the crayon box on the table and the sippy cups next to the sink and thought how much better – how much brighter – her life had gotten since Kelly had come to live with her.

Dina smiled slightly, and slipped into Kelly's room. One of the changes most dear to her was the chance to watch her daughter sleep. Kelly's light brown hair was feathered across her pillow, and her mouth was slightly open. The rising and falling of her chest was a peaceful, unbroken rhythm, and Dina thought that all the pain, all the hardship of life before, was worth it just for this one moment.

There was a knock on the door to the apartment.

Dina got up slowly and carefully closed Kelly's bedroom door behind her, so as not to wake her daughter. She peeked through the spy hole.

A very blonde man stood on the other side of the door. As she watched, he pulled a badge out of his jacket pocket and waved it in front of the spy hole impatiently.

"Ms. Kingston?" His voice was low and hurried. "I work with Samantha Spade. Something's happened to her. Open the door, I've got to talk to you."

. - . - . - .

Martin balled up his empty take-out bag and aimed for the garbage can next to the counter. "Bet you it goes in clean."

Sam grinned. "Bet you it falls short."

"You're on." He leaned back and made a big show of lining up his throw.

He overshot the basket by a foot.

Sam laughed and Martin sheepishly got up to retrieve the bag.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You lost."

"So did you!" He threw the bag at her.

She caught it and chucked it back. He dodged, and the bag landed neatly in the trash.

"Okay," Martin shook his head, "totally unfair. You weren't even trying."

"And you were?"

"Well sort of."

"Well you're lying."

"Ah, well."

Just then the phone rang. Sam made no move to answer it, and Martin glanced at her.

"Screening?"

"You see? I actually listen to you and Jack."

"Glad to here all my breath hasn't been wasted."

They waited. The tone sounded. Silence. Then a slow scratching noise began, as if something was being scraped across the mouthpiece on the other end. It sped up, getting gradually louder and higher until it filled the room with screeching that went on and on. Sam and Martin stared.

The tone sounded again, and the grating noise was suddenly cut off, plunging the room back into silence.

"Sam?"

Sam shook her head, trying to clear the ringing in her ears.

"Any idea what that was?"

She shrugged. "Probably a prank call. There's a bunch of kids in the building." She was, of course, trying to convince herself as well as Martin.

"Odd coincidence."

She didn't have to ask what he meant. "Paranoia."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Sam looked down. Martin sighed and sat in the chair next to hers.

"I'm sorry. I know this is difficult. It's just that I'm worried, and you don't even seem to - "

"What do you want me to say?"

"What?"

"What do you want me to _say_, Martin? That suddenly there are times I want to draw down on any guy who bumps me in the street again? Times I can't make myself lay down on the couch again? That half a year later, and after over a month without nightmares, the dreams are suddenly back, and worse?"

"Sam – "

"Well it's true – but it's _normal_. Richard is out, Martin. I get that. And now I have to deal with it."

"And now _we_ have to deal with it."

Sam hesitated. "Funny, you never struck me as the soap opera type."

"I'm being serious." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and she closed her eyes at the familiar gesture. "You are the most independent woman I know. But you have to let me help you."

Without opening her eyes, she murmured, "So I'm a little worried."

He put his hand up to stroke her cheek. "That's okay, I'm scared too."

Her eyes flickered open and she smiled faintly. "I didn't say that."

"No. You never do."

"No." She leaned forward.

Their lips met in a soft, sweet kiss –

_Rrrrring!_

They pulled apart as the phone rang again. Sam grinned and turned to lean against Martin while they waited.

Silence, and then the same shrill shrieking filled the room again. Sam stiffened and sat up.

But this time the noise ended quickly, and more silence followed. Then –

"Samantha." The voice was a harsh whisper.

Sam flinched slightly, and Martin stood up.

"… Dina says hi."

. - . - . - .

**A/N:** Dun dun duuunn!


	10. n i n e : Spiral

**P A S S A G E _  
_**_Sequel to Privilege_

**A/N**: Whoa, been a while. Sorry about that. Stuff and excuses, etc. On to the fic!

**Recap**: 

"Samantha." The voice was a harsh whisper.

Sam flinched slightly, and Martin stood up.

"… Dina says hi."

**C h a p t e r N i n e   
Spiral**

. - . - . - .

Martin called it in. Sam tried, but she couldn't form the words. She couldn't form any words at all, and she slumped against her kitchen chair, head in her hands. Martin, who'd expected her to jump for the door, wasn't sure whether to be grateful or alarmed.

She didn't even twitch when he snapped his phone shut. He gently set it on the table beside the Chinese takeout leftovers and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Jack and Viv are on their way to Dina's apartment. They'll call us if they find something." He paused, waited for her to protest.

She did not.

"Jack wants us to stay here."

Still nothing.

"He's afraid that this is just a distraction and that Hirsch – "

"Will take the opportunity to grab me in the confusion. Yes, Martin, I also have a badge."

Martin looked down.

"He won't."

"Sam."

"He won't. He enjoys this too much. He enjoys it." Her voice grew harsh, and she looked up angrily. "He _enjoys_ it, he enjoys it all."

. - . - . - .

Dina Kingston's door was shut and locked properly. No blood stained the paint or the carpet. Jack knocked once, impatiently, and shouted, "FBI!" Then, not bothering with the mandatory hesitation, he shoved the door open and entered the apartment, Viv right behind him.

"Clear," he called. Vivian went to check the bathroom.

A faint cry came from behind a closed door on Jack's right. The door was decorated with Sesame Street coloring book pictures, dull outlines covered in crayon, and a bright yellow sign on the doorknob said _Come on in!_

Jack eased against the wall and adjusted his grip on his gun.

The cry came again, a muffled, whimpering sound.

Vivian rejoined him. When he glanced at her, she nodded and together they burst into Kelly's room.

. - . - . - .

"She was just getting her life back together, you know? Things… Things were _good_, Martin."

"Sam, you can't make this your fault."

"Don't tell me what I can do."

"You need to – "

"Don't tell me what I need to do! _Damn_ it, Martin!"

Martin fell silent again.

Sam closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Martin watched her sink into her hands again and bit his lip. He wanted so much to touch her; he was afraid of how she might react. He was glad she hadn't tried to leave, worried that she still wasn't fighting him about it. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach for Dina Kingston, and fear for Sam made his breathing shallow. All of his senses were heightened and tingling and waiting, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how Sam was feeling.

"Richard G. Hirsch," Sam whispered, "is a psychotic obsessional stalker."

Martin wasn't sure what to say.

"He is rapist, and he is a murderer."

It was horrible, but it was true, and Martin knew better than to say otherwise.

"Dina Kingston is a good person." Sam paused. "Her… her _abduction_… is not my fault." She met Martin's gaze, eyes tired but stubborn, almost apathetic.

Martin waited, uncertain, not sure where she was going with this.

"It's not my fault, Martin… but can you say this would have happened if he wasn't after me?"

"Sam…" Martin's protest died as he searched for a way to say what he needed to without sounding like an FBI agent.

"You can't," she mumbled into her hands. "It's not my fault…but it's my responsibility." She stood up and began to pace.

Martin didn't think he wanted to know what was coming.

"She won't be at the apartment," Sam said abruptly, half to herself. "She'll be somewhere that's familiar to him. Somewhere he feels powerful. The phone call…" She stumbled on the edge of the rug and caught herself, her thoughts drifting off to somewhere Martin couldn't follow. He watched helplessly, feeling less and less in control.

He could tell the moment she started seriously considering the idea. "Samantha, I _will not_ let you trade yourself for her."

"Of course not, Martin. I trust you."

"You –"

"I won't have to go with him. We just have to make him think I will."

"It's too much of a –"

"A what? A _risk_?" Her voice bordered on hysterical. "_What_, Martin? I think Dina is the one who should be worried about the _risk_ right now!" She whirled away and paced to the window, hands twisting restlessly on the sill. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against the frosty pain and looked out at the white-dusted street.

Her eyes narrowed. "Where is he, Martin?"

"We'll find her."

"What is he doing to her. Right now. What's he _doing_? Where…"

Martin's phone buzzed on the tabletop. He reached for it, but Sam snatched it up first. He blinked; he hadn't even seen her turn away from the window.

"Yeah?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"… We've got Dina."

Sam raised a hand to her mouth. "What? Is… is she okay?"

His voice was cut and hollow in her ear. "She will be, but Sam…"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, but… Kelly is missing."

The phone clattered to the floor.

. - . - . - .


End file.
